


in war with time for love of you

by hakyeonni



Series: little incubus [8]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Gentle Sex, Immortals, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-20 11:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9488183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakyeonni/pseuds/hakyeonni
Summary: the past can't hurt him. this is what hakyeon tells himself, even when he hears the rustle of feathers following him, even as he tries to forget. the past cannot hurt him.





	

Hakyeon sees Jaehwan everywhere he goes.

It’s hard not to; their time together was measured in months rather than years or decades or centuries, and yet he can’t think of a single thing that has shaped him more than Jaehwan has. So when he walks into the kitchen and sees Jaehwan bending over to get something from the fridge, only to reach out to touch and have him disintegrate underneath his fingertips, it’s not a surprise. Neither is when he wakes to see Jaehwan lying on his side staring at him with such wonder Hakyeon blushes—and when he blinks, Jaehwan’s gone. When he closes his eyes, he sees the ghost of Jaehwan’s face; when he opens them, it’s like the real thing is there. It’s the purest, worst kind of torture, and he feels like he is slowly going insane.

So when he’s out one night with Sanghyuk and they’re making their way home after a feed, and he hears a noise behind them and turns to see a disgustingly familiar silhouette shadowing them, complete with the outline of black wings—he stares at it for a moment before turning his back on it firmly. The past cannot hurt him. The past is not real.

That’s what he tells himself, even when he hears the rustle of feathers behind him, feels wind against the back of his neck.

Lying to himself is easy.

//

Slowly, he rebuilds himself—or at least, the image of himself. It’s so easy to hide behind a mask of jokes and vulgarity, laughing and swearing and drinking red bulls. It’s so easy to get the others to believe he’s doing fine, and if he keeps at it enough, maybe he will start believing it too. Fake it til you make it, right?

“Hyung!” Sanghyuk calls from down the hall. “Do you want breakfast?”

For once they’re both up in the daylight—Hakyeon is back to a (relatively normal) mortal schedule of sleeping at night and waking during the day, considering he hasn’t spoken to Wonshik in more than a month, although Hongbin is over a few times a week to spend time with Sanghyuk. So when he crawls out of bed, bringing his blanket with him and wrapping it around himself, he sees that what Sanghyuk is cooking is indeed breakfast and not dinner—although it doesn’t look particularly appetising, since Sanghyuk apparently doesn’t have the slightest idea how to cook eggs.

“Did no one teach you to cook?” he chides, dropping his blanket in a puddle on the tiles and butting Sanghyuk out of the way gently. The eggs look disgusting, but are probably recoverable, if he tries. _Probably_. He doesn’t much feel like it, though, and tips the contents of the saucepan into the bin neatly.

“Fuck you,” Sanghyuk scowls, and jabs his fingers into Hakyeon’s ribs. “I was trying to do something nice for you and this is what I get?”

Hakyeon whips out his phone and navigates to a delivery app, neatly dodging Sanghyuk’s swipes. “Trying to poison me isn’t very nice. I’ll order breakfast.”

Sanghyuk rolls his eyes, and stalks over to the sofa to flop down on it dramatically. “What’s that saying? Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day…?”

“You don’t even need food to live, so shut up,” Hakyeon replies not unkindly, scooping his blanket off the floor to fling it at Sanghyuk’s head. “Want to go hunting tonight?”

When Sanghyuk finally untangles himself from the blanket and looks up at him, Hakyeon can see the slight surprise and gratitude there. Surprise, because he still can’t believe Hakyeon is back to himself—he isn’t, really, but he’s managing to quash those feelings for now—and gratitude because Hakyeon can sense through the bond that he still isn’t as confident as he should be with feeding. Not for the first time, he feels a weak pang of guilt for retreating into himself so soon after Sanghyuk was changed; it appears to have fallen to Hongbin to teach him the basic immortals dos-and-don’ts, which isn’t what Hakyeon intended. _None_ of this is what he intended. After he met Jaehwan, his life seems to have spun way out of control, and he’s only just starting to wrestle it back.

“Tonight? Ah, I was going to hang out with Hongbin,” Sanghyuk stammers, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, hyung. Raincheck? Maybe you could see what Wonshik is up to?”

Hakyeon smiles breezily, like it’s no big deal, even if his heart is aching something fierce. He doesn’t have Jaehwan anymore. Wonshik isn’t talking to him. Sanghyuk is pulling away from him, into the arms of Hongbin—and everything is his fault. He has no one but himself to blame for this. “Sure! What are you guys up to?” he asks, leaping over the back of the sofa to land neatly next to Sanghyuk, reaching for the remote to switch on the TV.

He listens to Sanghyuk blither on about what he and Hongbin are planning to do with half an ear, not really paying attention to the TV either. It’s not that he doesn’t care, more that he’s become so jaded about love; when did that happen? He watches Sanghyuk fondly, sees the affection on his face as he describes how Hongbin had faced off against some vampires that had wandered into his territory, always putting himself in front of Sanghyuk, always taking care of him. It’s sweet, sickeningly so, and while Hakyeon is happy for them there’s a little voice in his head telling him that it won’t last, it won’t last, it _can’t_ last.

“...Hyung,” Sanghyuk blurts, stopping himself midway through an anecdote about Hongbin bringing him flowers, “I know Wonshik really misses you. You should talk to him.”

The image of flowers triggers a distant memory, something he’s buried, but he shakes it away. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he replies evenly, because there’s not. Wonshik loves him too much to want to watch him self-destruct, which he’s doing.

“No,” Sanghyuk replies, and then he’s pressing himself into Hakyeon, shoving him back down on the sofa and hovering over him, his eyes hard. Any other time this would be sexual, but it’s not; all he can feel through the bond is indignation, and a little anger. “You _need_ him. You might be able to pretend you’re alright, but I know what I feel through the bond, and you’re not as alright as you’re pretending to be. So go and see Wonshik.”

Hakyeon contemplates throwing Sanghyuk across the room; the fact that he’s thinking such violent things with ease should worry him, but it doesn’t. He doesn’t even know if he has _concerned_ programmed into what feelings he’s allowing himself to feel; it appears he doesn’t. Oh well. “Alright,” he concedes, only because there’s still that memory floating around in the back of his head and it’s annoying him. He has no idea what he’s going to say to Wonshik, doesn’t know if he has the words, but he’ll work it out.

The breakfast arrives then, and they eat glumly in silence. Hakyeon quietly regrets throwing out those eggs—not that he’d ever say that. He almost wants to reach out to hold Sanghyuk’s hand, to close the impassable gulf that widens between them, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t really deserve to, anyway.

When breakfast is over, he wanders back to his room and flops down on the bed dramatically, groaning loudly as he hears the front door slam. Sanghyuk had said he was going back to his apartment—that he’s _still_ paying rent for, God only knows why—to sort out some stuff, leaving Hakyeon alone to his reverie. The image of Hongbin presenting flowers to a smiling, blushing Sanghyuk is stuck in his mind, and no matter what he does it won’t go away. He tosses and turns for a while before pulling the blanket over his head and trying to sleep, because there’s nothing else to do, the image of flowers tugging him backwards.

//

When Hakyeon wakes, it takes him a moment for him to work out where he is. All he can remember is—the palace, the panic, Jihoon drinking poison with a steely resolve. He gasps and digs his nails into his arms, grounding himself. He’s not at the palace. He’s in the woods, somewhere, sort of identical to where he’d been when he’d come across the other immortal, Wonshik, who is nowhere to be seen. Hakyeon is nestled amongst a patch of soft plants, and when he sits upright he can see a patch of freshly-dug dirt upturned next to him. He leans over and places his hand on it, feeling, and gets a faint sense of Wonshik. He can _feel_ him, just like he could feel Soyeong, but it’s not with any human senses—more like a piece of his soul, of his blood, recognising another immortal for what they are. It sort of seems like Wonshik’s sleeping, which doesn’t make any sense until Hakyeon remembers what he had told him, the last words he’d heard before he passed out— _I’m a vampire, in case you couldn’t tell._ Hakyeon doesn’t exactly know what a vampire is, but if he had to guess he would assume they can’t be up in the daylight.

Getting to his feet slowly, he assesses himself. As he’d run from the palace he’d found his body changing without him having any control over it—he’d shifted through a half-dozen different animals, and various human forms, while still desperately trying to run. Perhaps that’s why he’s hungry now, and not in the mortal way but in a way that has him gritting his teeth against the feeling. It’s a horrible, aching hunger that comes from his chest, and he knows he must feed, and it must be on a human. Soyeong can’t help him any longer. The only problem is he has no idea where he is; he could be in China by now, for all he knows. He can feel that he’s in nothing but woods, though—there’s no humans around, no immortals, nothing. He’s completely and utterly alone, left with only the clothes on his back—the slave clothes he’d left the palace in are tattered and dirty, now—and the vampire sleeping in the earth next to him.

Instead of opening his heart to the pain that’s waiting in the wings to overtake him, he picks a direction and walks, enjoying the shade dappling his face and trying to distract himself. He won’t go too far, he knows, because whether he likes it or not Wonshik is his ticket out of here, the only thing he has left. How ironic. How many times will he realise that whatever good he has in his life will get ripped away?

 _No_ , he thinks, shying away from those thoughts violently. Instead he bends over and picks a pretty blue flower, twirling the stem absentmindedly between his fingers. Songi, blossom, flowers. He’ll probably never escape that insignia.

He walks for the rest of the day, a good six hours or so since he woke up at midday (that’s another thing he’s noticed since being changed—he can tell what time it is exactly with some weird innate sense), never straying very far from where Wonshik sleeps but just wandering, touching everything, enjoying the rawness of being in nature. This is the first time he’s been really, properly alone since he’s changed, and while he knows that he’s going to break soon when it sinks in that everything he knows is gone for good, for the moment he can just enjoy the peace and quiet. He watches the sky turn from blue to orange to a burning red to dark, his eyes adjusting to the change easily. The moment the sun disappears from the sky a hand bursts out of the dirt and he rears backwards, watching with eyes wide as Wonshik emerges from the ground, so covered in dirt he looks like some kind of monster. He shakes himself violently, not unlike the way dogs do when they get wet, and Hakyeon has to bite back a smile—somehow he doesn’t think Wonshik will appreciate that comparison.

“You’re still here,” Wonshik deadpans, pulling his shirt off over his head and hitting it against the nearest tree to rid it of dirt.

Hakyeon gulps. “I didn’t… I didn’t know if you’d want me to be.”

Shrugging, Wonshik turns to look at him, his gaze even. “It makes no difference to me.”

So far, Hakyeon can file this with the things he knows about vampires: _cold_. It adds to _strong_ and _sleeps during the day_. It’s a pretty damn short list. He tries not to wither underneath Wonshik’s steely gaze and instead gets to his feet, thrusting the small bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked at Wonshik, a peace offering. “Here. These are for you.”

A range of expressions cross Wonshik’s face in rapid succession, and it’s kind of amusing to watch them go past—surprise, skepticism, befuddlement, and finally a soft sort of gaze that includes a smile. He’s actually not bad looking when he stops glowering, and Hakyeon finds himself smiling back as Wonshik takes the flowers. “What’s this for?”

“To say sorry,” Hakyeon replies, fingering a tear in his pants and avoiding Wonshik’s gaze. “And thank you, for saving my life.”

There’s a long, long silence, before Wonshik pulls Hakyeon in for a hug, startling him. He gets the feeling Wonshik isn’t really a touchy-feely person. The closeness is nice, and even if this is so distinctly different to hugging a mortal (Wonshik’s _cold)_ Hakyeon appreciates the hug for what it is. He certainly hadn’t expected to find another immortal in the woods outside the palace, but the last thing he expected was to find a friend.

“Let’s get going,” Wonshik says, and when he pulls away Hakyeon can tell he’s blushing. Huh. He really must not show affection often. “Where do you want to go?”

Hakyeon has nowhere to go, so he shrugs and lets Wonshik pick a direction, trailing behind him and staring at the wildflowers that Wonshik is clutching in his hand.

//

Hakyeon doesn’t even bother to knock; it’s daylight and the vampires will be dead to the world, so he scrounges for the key underneath the mat and unlocks the door, letting himself in. For someone so paranoid Wonshik is really lax about personal security, but that’s a lecture for another time. The apartment is spotless, as per usual, and Hakyeon heads straight for the fridge, dumping his stuff on the kitchen bench. There’s nothing in there but blood and red bull that Wonshik keeps especially for him, and he cracks open a can and downs it in one go.

The moment he’d awoken from that dream—that wasn’t really a dream at all, but a memory so vivid he can still feel the sunlight dappling his face, can still hear the noises of the woods around him—he’d swung himself out of bed and sprinted out the door, shifting into a bird the moment he was outside. It’s stupid of him to think that some flowers can fix things, but he knows it’s a start, and he also knows he _needs_ to start. He’s tired, so tired, and he just wants his friends back.

Scooping up his stuff, he heads into Wonshik’s bedroom, sitting down on the bed next to him and watching him fondly for a moment. In his sleep Wonshik can’t glare, and he looks young, younger than he usually does. He was twenty-three when turned, a full two years younger than Hakyeon, but he doesn’t come off that way at all. Immortals don’t really go by human ages, anyway; their new life starts when they’re turned and they start counting from there (Sanghyuk gets shitty whenever someone refers to him as a ‘newborn’ or ‘0 years old’, insisting he’s twenty-one—he hasn’t quite gotten it yet).

“Hey,” Hakyeon says, shaking Wonshik’s shoulder gently. He doesn’t even feel guilty about waking Wonshik up when he’s sleeping; Wonshik has done it to him more times than he can count. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Wonshik sits bolt upright and blinks blearily at Hakyeon. It’s pretty close to sunset, so he’s reasonably alert, but he still clearly has no idea why Hakyeon is sitting on his bed when they haven’t spoken for an age. “What are you doing here?” he says gruffly, slouching and tugging his blankets up.

Hakyeon doesn’t say anything, just reaches for Wonshik’s hand and curls the bouquet of flowers he’s been carrying into it, wrapping his fingers around the stems. This is the simplest, purest way Hakyeon knows how to say sorry, and he knows Wonshik will understand what he means.

Wonshik smiles softly at the flowers, and Hakyeon feels a weight lift off his chest, a weight he didn’t even know was there. He hadn’t put it past the vampire to chuck the flowers at his head and tell him to fuck off—especially as it’s still light outside—but he finds himself relaxing anyway, smiling as Wonshik tugs him in for a quick hug. Wordlessly, Hakyeon crawls onto the bed next to him, watching as Wonshik goes back to sleep almost immediately, still hanging onto the bouquet of flowers for dear life.

//

“You’re even making me breakfast?”

Hakyeon turns from the microwave—where a blood bag is spinning wearily around and around—and raises an eyebrow at Wonshik, who looks adorable in a sleep-shirt that’s entirely too big for him, his hair all over the place. He still has the damn flowers clutched in his hand, and it plucks at a string of Hakyeon’s heart so severely he has to turn back to the microwave and clench his fists. The month without Wonshik had passed in a blink of an eye, but it was certainly a quiet one. They complete each other in stupid, funny ways, as people who have been together for three hundred years have, and Hakyeon feels a strength fill him, like he’s just regained a piece of who he is.

“I have a lot to make up for,” he replies as the microwave beeps, picking up the blood bag and wincing as it sloshes in his hands. “Microwaving some blood is the least I can do.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wonshik dismisses as he takes the bag and tears into it. It’s a pretty gross sight, even if Hakyeon’s got used to it over the years—drinking blood fresh is the quickest, and easiest, way for a vampire to replenish, but blood bags tide them over for a while, give a little hint of energy that’s enough for Wonshik to last for a few days on with how old he is.

Hakyeon leans back on the bench and folds his arms across his chest. “Have you seen how Hongbin and Sanghyuk are acting? Sanghyuk went on for a full half hour about how great Hongbin is. You’d think the sun shines out of his ass,” he sighs.

Wonshik finishes the blood bag and licks his bloody lips, smirking. “That was _you_ just a few months ago, so watch yourself. I think it’s bizarre. Love is just bullshit anyway.”

The light-hearted teasing, the banter, is probably what Hakyeon missed the most about Wonshik, and he follows as the vampire heads back into his bedroom, looping an arm around his neck and dragging him closer. “Just because you’re into women doesn’t mean you can’t find love, you know,” he mutters, digging his heels in in an attempt to stop Wonshik—who doesn’t even falter.

“I’m also—asexual,” he grunts, taking the arm that Hakyeon has looped around his neck and using it to flip him over onto the bed, a move that shows he’s been watching WWE again. “Which you keep forgetting.”

Hakyeon watches from his back on the bed as Wonshik moves to his chest of drawers and fossicks around for a shirt. “I said _love_ , not cunnilingus. Do you even listen to me? Like, ever?”

It’s probably the greatest of ironies that he and Wonshik ended up best friends—they couldn’t be more opposite if they tried. Wonshik has watched Hakyeon whore himself all over Korea, sucking and fucking anything that came his way, with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a snide comment here or there. Hakyeon hadn’t known Wonshik was asexual at first—for the first _decade_ he’d kept begging for them to go hunting together because it would be fun, and alright, Wonshik was kinda hot. It had culminated with Hakyeon drunkenly kissing Wonshik, much to his amusement; Hakyeon doesn’t think he’ll ever forget _that_ conversation as long as he lives.

“Most of what you say is bullshit,” Wonshik replies, mildly, pulling his shirt over his head. “So, no.”

Hakyeon realises with a start that Wonshik is going out, probably to feed, and rolls around so he’s on his belly. The fact that Wonshik hasn’t kicked him out is, he knows, an implicit invitation to join him, so he sits up and shifts, feeling slightly mad with anticipation. Hunting with Sanghyuk is fun, but he and Wonshik work together so easily, always have. Tonight he makes his hair blonde, because why not, and goes with his regular staple of a black shirt, black skinny jeans and black combat boots—but he makes the shirt gappy, so whenever he moves it flows, which he knows will look good when he dances. Wonshik, no doubt, feels the energy as Hakyeon uses it up, but he just glances up and rolls his eyes. “You look like a hit man.”

“And you look like a walking stereotype,” Hakyeon points out, noting that Wonshik is dressed all in black, too, with a long trench coat, complete with vampiric collar. “Are you cosplaying Dracula? I thought you got out of that habit centuries ago.”

With a playful roar, Wonshik flies onto the bed to get Hakyeon into a headlock. Even though Hakyeon can shift on strength, there’s no competition, not really; Wonshik is stronger than he ever could hope to be, and he pins Hakyeon to the bed easily and tickles him mercilessly until Hakyeon is begging for a reprieve.

He doesn’t even consider that maybe Wonshik missed him too until they’re in the lift heading downstairs and he feels Wonshik’s hand curl around his own, squeezing gently. It’s a touch that says so much, and Hakyeon smiles to himself shyly. The burden on his shoulders is still there, of course, and sometimes he’s still choked by it. But he has Wonshik, he has his best friend, and it’s with a renewed sense of optimism and actual _hope_ that he practically skips out of the elevator, a grin stretched over his face, Wonshik’s laughter echoing in his ears.

//

When Hakyeon lets himself back into his apartment, having slept on Wonshik’s sofa—and waking with a cricked neck, as per usual—he toes off his shoes and calls, “anyone home?” not expecting anyone to be. Instead, he hears a grunt from the direction of Sanghyuk’s room, and bites back a smile.

“Why are you always getting into bed with people?” Sanghyuk mutters sleepily as Hakyeon slips under the covers next to him, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s waist to tug him backwards so they’re spooning.

“Because bed is a nice place to be,” Hakyeon mumbles into Sanghyuk’s shoulder, pressing a kiss there for good measure. “You’re not allowed to go out tonight.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“We’re getting drunk and watching a stupid movie,” Hakyeon tells him, and the tone of his voice indicates this is a mandatory activity.

Sanghyuk sighs, and rolls over so they’re face-to-face, one eye squinted against the daylight. “I think I liked it better when we were just fuck buddies. At least then you weren’t being so… peppy. You’re like a cheerleader.”

Hakyeon hasn’t thought of Sanghyuk like that in a while—not since he was turned, at least; his mind had been so consumed by Jaehwan that he didn’t even consider anything else. Even the humans he fed on were nothing but a means to an end, a way to get more energy so he could go back to Jaehwan. But he is a creature of desire after all, and sex is _fun_ , so he swoops in to press a gentle kiss to Sanghyuk’s lips. It’s not passionate, or fueled by heat; it’s a placid suggestion, a soft sigh, and Sanghyuk kisses him back equally as idly.

“What are you doing?” he asks, pulling back slightly to rest a hand on Hakyeon’s face. “This… You said it wasn’t allowed. That I wasn’t going to get energy from you unless I was dying. And I sure as hell hope I’m not dying.”

“This isn’t about energy,” Hakyeon murmurs, sliding an arm around Sanghyuk’s waist, tugging him closer. Sanghyuk is so sweetly familiar that he nuzzles his way to press hot open-mouthed kisses to his neck, knowing it’s one of his weak spots. “This is about you and me.”

Sanghyuk’s fingers clench in the fabric of Hakyeon’s shirt. “Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist,” he mumbles, but his voice is pitching up at the end of his sentences the way it does when he’s turned on, so when Hakyeon comes up to kiss him again Sanghyuk kisses him back more enthusiastically, his eyes fluttering shut.

They don’t even bother to shift their clothes away, just peel each other out of them slowly; Sanghyuk’s only wearing a sleep shirt and boxers, but Hakyeon’s still wearing layer after layer of clothing, a balm against the cold of outside. When they’re naked, Hakyeon takes a moment to just _look_ at Sanghyuk, stretched out in front of him. He’s gorgeous, nearly impossibly so. Immortality looks so good on him, suits him, and when Sanghyuk whines it’s like music to his ears.

“You’re so pretty,” Hakyeon whispers, slipping his fingers into Sanghyuk’s mouth, gritting his teeth as Sanghyuk sucks on them.

The moment Hakyeon removes his fingers, Sanghyuk smirks at him. “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing you say that. Say it aga— _oh_ ,” he moans, arching up as Hakyeon slides a slick finger inside him.

“And I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing _that,”_ Hakyeon counters, kissing Sanghyuk again because it’s familiar and soft and nice and hearing Sanghyuk whimper underneath him galvanises him somehow.

It’s slow movements, gentle touches, whispered pleas; when Sanghyuk begs to be fucked Hakyeon obliges, marveling silently at the way they still fit so well together, how well Sanghyuk takes his cock. He _likes_ this, likes being in charge, likes being the one to pin Sanghyuk to the mattress and bite his neck, loves the way Sanghyuk moans for him. He knows he said it’s not about the energy, and it’s _not_ , but they’ve come this far, so as he’s thrusting smoothly into Sanghyuk he leans down to kiss, to taste, and whines. This is new. He’s not fed from Sanghyuk the incubus before. He tastes exquisite, like he used to as a human but with an element of power that was never there before; his humanity is there too, still fresh, and it’s like nothing Hakyeon’s ever felt before. He groans, a shudder running through him, and when he opens his eyes to see Sanghyuk’s glowing a mirroring yellow, a smirk quirking at his lips, he wraps his fingers around Sanghyuk’s throat in response. “You taste so good,” he growls throatily, licking a stripe up Sanghyuk’s cheek, feeling the younger man clench around him.

Even like this, when Hakyeon has one hand wrapped loosely around Sanghyuk’s throat, he can’t stop thinking that it’s soft, everything is just soft and genial. Sanghyuk’s moans and little breathy noises are low, and his skin almost glitters from the sunlight hitting it; when he comes, it’s with no fanfare or announcement, just a quiet _ah!_ sound that colours the air, his fingers digging into Hakyeon’s arm. With an inhale, he tastes Sanghyuk again; with an exhale, he comes as well, burying his head in the crook of Sanghyuk’s neck and whispering his name, the syllables warm in his mouth. He doesn’t even mind that he can feel Sanghyuk feeding on him.

“I think that’s the first time I haven’t been exhausted after sex with you,” Sanghyuk says a moment later—but his chest is still heaving, and he’s covered with a thin film of sweat.

Hakyeon sits up and stretches, licking his lips as if he can still taste Sanghyuk on them. “I mean, we could go again if you _really_ want to be tired out. Give me five minutes.”

Sanghyuk sticks a finger down his throat and gags, but his eyes are sparkling with the hint of a smile. “You’re a lecherous old man.”

“Yes,” Hakyeon replies, catching the back of Sanghyuk’s neck to drag him down into another kiss, tracing the younger man’s bottom lip with his tongue, feeling him react automatically. “And you love it.”

“Get off me,” Sanghyuk chides playfully, pushing Hakyeon away to crawl out from underneath him.

Hakyeon lets him go, flopping back onto the pillows and humming contentedly. Intimacy and sex go hand in hand for incubi, and he can feel through the bond that Sanghyuk feels content, too. They’re closer than they have been in months, and when Hakyeon rolls over onto his belly he closes his eyes and smiles. The horrible snarly knot inside him is starting to untangle, piece by piece. No longer does he feel like he’s wearing a mask of happiness while secretly being miserable; most of the time the happiness actually _fits_... And sometimes, just sometimes, he feels like he actually belongs again.

//

“That one’s watching you.”

Hakyeon doesn’t turn from leaning on the bar, just smiles into his beer and takes another swig. It’s not a surprise that he’s being watched; he and Hongbin are the only immortals in this club, and eyes are naturally drawn to them. “Who?”

The quirk on Hongbin’s lips tells Hakyeon that it’s a girl—interest would show on his face if it was a boy, but Hongbin’s as gay as they come—so he dips his head back to the bar. “She’s my age. Alone. Looks out of her depth.” He pauses, assessing. “She’d be easy for you.”

Hakyeon and Wonshik taught Hongbin everything he knows—he and Hakyeon have gone out hunting more times than he can count, and they work well as a pair, especially with how sensitive Hongbin is; he has a remarkable affinity for everything supernatural and it comes in handy. This is the first time they have been out alone for a while, though—Hakyeon had insisted.

“Do you want her?” he murmurs, turning around to make eye contact with the girl, who blinks, startled. She’s pretty in a doe-eyed way, her hair falling over her face. Her nervousness is endearing, but not as much as the way he can see how much energy she’d give.

When Hakyeon looks back over, he can see Hongbin’s eyes are glowing red in the darkness, and when he smiles his fangs are out. Hakyeon isn’t gagging for energy anyway, so he nods imperceptibly, pretending to look away. They’re hunting in unfamiliar territory tonight, which means he has to pay attention and watch for danger. If any other vampires turn up, it would mean trouble—and he’s had enough of that to last a lifetime.

He sees the girl’s eyes glow a matching red as Hongbin glamours her, cupping her face gently with a smile. His glamour is so strong that he could probably make her do a handstand if he wanted to, but instead he just takes her hand and leads her towards the exit, filtering through the throngs of people. Hakyeon finishes the rest of his beer and follows, keeping to the shadows, noticing how Hongbin keeps looking back over his shoulder at her like he’s infatuated, keeps the glamour going. Hakyeon grins to himself in the darkness, even though there’s no one to see; Hongbin is so good at what he does he is practically bursting with pride.

The cold hits him like a smack in the face, and he shifts on a coat, wincing. Just because the cold doesn’t affect him doesn’t mean he can’t feel it, and it’s still unpleasant—the sky is heavy and swollen, threatening to snow, and he knows that when he wakes up tomorrow the ground will be blanketed in white. It’s nice, he muses as he follows behind Hongbin and the girl, keeping his distance. The passing of seasons is nice. Change is nice. Change is _good_. His memories of Jaehwan are tainted by the colours of autumn, cool oranges and reds and browns, and the crunch of leaves underfoot. The coming of winter has helped him forget even more.

He loiters around for a while, kicking at the dirt and feeling, as best he can, for any other immortals who might be in the area. There’s nothing as far as he can tell; just mortals milling about closer to the entrance of the club. It’s a relief, really. He doesn’t particularly want their nice night out to be marred by violence.

He hears it, around the same time Hongbin softly calls, “hyung,” from across the street—the rustling of feathers behind him, too big to be a bird, too close to be an angel, he’d sense it. Black feathers, he knows; he can see them in his mind when he closes his eyes, and his fingers twitch, curl, wanting to touch, to hold.

“Coming,” he calls back, stepping off the kerb and hurrying across to Hongbin, not looking back, not even tempted to.

The girl is slumped against the wall, the only evidence of Hongbin’s feed the tiny pin-pricks on her neck. Hongbin, however, has blood lingering on his lips, and when he licks them Hakyeon sees the flash of fangs. For her part, the girl is still conscious, and moans softly when her eyes lock onto Hakyeon. Well, conscious, but not particularly lucid.

“She’s all yours,” Hongbin whispers, stepping back and dragging a hand across his mouth.

Without hesitation, Hakyeon steps closer to the girl and cups her face between his hands tenderly, gently. She sighs into him. He must seem comforting after Hongbin. He leans down and kisses her, just a brief brush of lips, and feeds off what little energy she has left, his eyes glowing yellow. He was right—her energy is pure and it fills him with a rush, right as she loses consciousness and slumps in his arms.

“Where will we leave her?” Hongbin asks, slinging her over his shoulder easily, his touches soft as not to injure her further. “Dump her at the club entrance?”

“Let’s take her home,” Hakyeon replies, reaching for her bag to dig out her license. “She’s too sweet for that.”

They head off back down the street, staying to the shadows, melting into the darkness in the way that comes so naturally to them. There’s a furious sound of flapping behind them, like a huge bird has just taken off, but Hakyeon’s steps don’t even falter. He doesn’t look back, not once, even when Hongbin catches his gaze and raises an eyebrow, a wordless _did you hear that?_ The temptation is gone, the spell is broken, and that part of Hakyeon is long since dead.

//

“Merry Christmas!”

Hongbin is as enthusiastic as ever, and the moment Hakyeon tugs the door open he falls on him, hugging him so hard he’s lifted off the ground. Wonshik, holding a plastic bag of supplies, looks decidedly less exuberant, a santa hat jammed on his head. Hakyeon smiles, which earns him a shove, and when he turns away he feels the other two follow him into the apartment.

“Merry Christmas,” he calls back over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen, gathering the alcohol and glasses in his arms and padding back into the lounge room. “I thought you guys were never going to turn up.”

“Hyung had to do his hair,” Hongbin explains helpfully. He’s already laid down in Sanghyuk’s arms on the sofa, and the sight of that makes Hakyeon’s stomach turn, although he’s not really sure why.

Wonshik stalks past them to sit on the floor heavily, resting his chin on his hands and pouting. “And then Hongbin had to go and put this fucking hat on me.”

Hakyeon kicks Wonshik gently on the thigh before folding himself on the floor, dumping the bottles of soju and vodka in front of him. Sanghyuk whistles at the sight of all that alcohol, and sits up, reaching for a bottle. “I want to have a nice Christmas, everyone,” he explains, slapping Sanghyuk’s hand away neatly. “So no fighting, no biting, and no fucking.”

For the past hundred years, it’s just been the three of them at Christmas, and they never really did anything special—they usually just holed up in an apartment and watched whatever vaguely-Christmassy movie they could find. They didn’t even give gifts, because there is absolutely no point—what does one even _get_ a six-hundred year old vampire? But this year is different. Hakyeon had put his foot down and explained that since there were four of them now, they should make an event of it, hence why his apartment is draped in so much tinsel it’s probably become a fire hazard, and there’s a pile of presents stacked under his brand new fake Christmas tree.

“You’re always the one doing those things,” Wonshik points out, which earns him a pinch in the side from Hakyeon.

Hakyeon glowers. “I’m not the bloodsucker here. Anyway! Should we do presents now or later?”

“Later,” Hongbin mutters, taking the shot that Hakyeon hands him and throwing it back. “I have a feeling I’m going to need to be drunk for whatever Sanghyuk’s got me.”

//

So far, Hakyeon’s got a slab of Red Bull from Hongbin, and a veritable stack of novels that Sanghyuk had found at a second-hand book store, which Hakyeon nearly devours straight away—it’s hard to find books that he hasn’t read, considering one whole wall of his bedroom is dedicated to a bookshelf that’s stuffed to overflowing.

“This is for you,” Sanghyuk’s saying, handing over an old-fashioned wooden box to Wonshik, wrapped simply with some ribbon. “And this one…”

As Hakyeon watches, Hongbin tears into the shoddily wrapped package, and holds the resulting book up in the air for everyone to see. Wonshik just rolls his eyes, but Hakyeon raises an eyebrow and points at the offending object, slowly, because he’s drunk. “Sanghyuk, you got him _Dracula?_ Really?”

“He hasn’t read it!” Sanghyuk replies, his hands in the air defensively. “I thought it would be cool. Even if Stoker does get most things wrong about you guys.”

In Wonshik’s box is a beautiful old-fashioned dagger, and when Hakyeon snatches it away and weighs it in his hand, he looks up at Sanghyuk and makes an impressed face. It’s well-made, with a gorgeous pattern on the handle, and when he hands it back over to Wonshik to examine he’s smiling. “A silver dagger?”

As Wonshik pretends to be injured by the silver, writhing around on the floor much to everyone’s amusement, Hakyeon reaches for the bottle of soju and brings it to his lips. This is nice. It’s just really nice. He finally feels like he’s back together again, like Jaehwan doesn’t have a piece of him still, like maybe he can keep going. For a while there he thought he wouldn’t be able to. But now? Like this, with Sanghyuk shrieking in alarm as Wonshik’s eyes roll back in his head before he leaps up to tackle Sanghyuk and Hongbin both, laughing the entire time? Like this, where his home is warm and full of laughter and there’s no sadness to be found? He thinks that maybe all the pain was worth it, if not for all of this.

He can see that Hongbin feels it just before he does—there’s a millisecond where there’s a question in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something. Hakyeon can see his lips part, wonders what the hell that’s about, and then, and then.

With a rush of angelic energy and a queer bitterness that makes him wince, Taekwoon appears in the lounge room, looking so bizarre and out of place next to the brightly-lit Christmas tree that Hakyeon shrinks away automatically, his drunk brain refusing to accept the two images.

Wonshik roars, and with a start Hakyeon realises the vampire still has the dagger in hand—so when he whirls and sinks it into Taekwoon’s thigh, it’s with a quickness that belies his intoxicated state, and before Hakyeon can move Taekwoon grabs Wonshik by the neck and slams him into the wall, his wings trembling. Sanghyuk has dissolved into a wailing mess—all Hakyeon can feel through the bond is fear, so raw that it cuts him to the bone—and Hongbin is hissing, his fangs bared, _Dracula_ in his hands like he can actually use it as a weapon. There’s a rush of power, a roaring in his ears, and as he watches Wonshik twists his head around and sinks his fangs into Taekwoon’s wrist, tearing at his flesh savagely. Even with a knife sticking out of his thigh and Wonshik wriggling like a rabid animal, Taekwoon doesn’t even look fazed. In fact, when Hakyeon stands up and, with a swing of his arm, smashes the soju bottle on the back of Taekwoon’s head to get his attention, he just looks back over his shoulder disinterestedly.

“What the fuck do you _want?_ ” Hakyeon snarls, his hands on his hips as he tries not to sway on the spot. “If this is about Jaehwan, you can fuck off right now. I haven’t spoken to him in months.”

That makes Taekwoon pause, and when he drops Wonshik and turns Hakyeon shivers under the weight of that stare. He never used to find Jaehwan’s black eyes terrifying, but then they weren’t ever narrowed with malice, and Jaehwan never stalked towards him in a predatory way that makes Hakyeon’s skin crawl. So much for angels being good. This being in front of him may as well be a demon for the evil that’s wreathing him, and when he pulls the knife out of his thigh and licks the blade, tasting his own blood, Hakyeon has to stop himself from shifting out of fear. “I find that hard to believe,” Taekwoon mutters, twirling the dagger in his fingers. “He was so attached to you.”

Hakyeon stretches out a hand towards Taekwoon, intending to touch him on the face, and flinches when Taekwoon catches his wrist. He feels it, the horrible moment that the connection opens up between them; angels can read minds through touch, and Taekwoon is currently poking around in Hakyeon’s head. Everywhere he goes, every memory he touches… Hakyeon sees it again, as real as if he was really there. Soyeong, smiling at him across the palace gardens. Jihoon, swallowing a bottle of poison with a stoicness that didn’t belong. Hakyeon stumbling through the woods, terrified, his body changing without him having any control over it. Wonshik, taking a bouquet of flowers with a shy smile. Hongbin, rising from the ground, covered in dirt, his eyes scarlet, roaring and leaping for Wonshik with his hands curled into fists. Sanghyuk, bleeding out on Hakyeon’s carpet. Jaehwan… Jaehwan.

Taekwoon sifts through every single memory Hakyeon has of Jaehwan, all at once; he falls to his knees, but Taekwoon still has his wrist so he can’t get away. All the times Jaehwan had kissed him, all the times he’d moaned Hakyeon’s name, all the times he’s whispered nonsense words into Hakyeon’s skin. His sins are laid bare, his inadequacies spread out for Taekwoon to feast on, and he closes his eyes and whimpers.

“You are base,” Taekwoon hisses, flinging Hakyeon’s wrist away like it’s dirty. “No wonder you drove him away. A creature such as you is incapable of love.”

Before Hakyeon can even react to that, Taekwoon disappears, and he sags. All that’s left of his Christmas—the Christmas he’d worked so hard to make nice—is Sanghyuk twisting himself into knots, sobbing, while Hongbin tries to comfort him and Wonshik vibrates with anger. There’s blood on his carpet, Taekwoon’s blood, and a high-pitched ringing in his head, but worst of all, oh, worst of all, are the memories he’d locked away assaulting him over and over. Taekwoon didn’t have to lay a finger on him to wound him; he’d just brought forth everything he was trying to forget, and it cuts him so deep he can barely breathe.

//

Sanghyuk had eventually quieted, and by the time the sun is threatening to rise Hakyeon has tucked him and Hongbin into bed together, watching over them until they both fell asleep, stroking Sanghyuk’s forehead because it’s all he can do. Wonshik had taken a little more soothing. Hakyeon had had to physically crawl into bed with him and hold him until he fell asleep; he was vibrating with rage or fear or some other emotion that Hakyeon wasn’t privy to, but he kept clenching his fists in the sheets and shaking his head, like he couldn’t believe what’s happened. Now that he’s sleeping, Hakyeon can see a ring of faint bruises around his neck from Taekwoon’s hand, just beginning to bloom.

It’s with a heavy heart that he makes his way to the roof of his apartment complex. He comes up here sometimes when he feels particularly lonely or destitute; most nights he just sits and looks at the moon, but today all he can see is the sky turning violet to the east, the faint pinpricks of stars in the sky. It’s bitterly cold, and he trudges through snow, wrapping his arms around himself but not bothering to shift on a coat. He needs to feel.

“Jaehwan,” he sighs to the empty air.

He comes, because of course he does. A flapping of wings behind him, a rush of air, and when Hakyeon closes his eyes for a moment he can practically _feel_ Jaehwan at his back, not saying anything, just waiting. He doesn’t turn around. Not yet. He’s terrified of what he might say when he lays his eyes on Jaehwan, so it’s safer to just stare at the sky.

The stars beckon to him as he whispers, “Taekwoon said I was incapable of love,” to no one in particular.

“That angel wouldn’t know love if it hit him in the face,” Jaehwan rumbles from behind him, and he sounds grumpy.

Hakyeon snorts, but the sound of Jaehwan’s voice has him breaking out into a new round of goosebumps. He still does not turn around. If he doesn’t turn around he can pretend that he’s strong, that he’s torn between leaping off the edge of the roof or running straight back to Jaehwan. He doesn’t pretend to know anything of fate, but that’s what this feels like; all his hard work over the past few months has been erased by the touch of an angel, and his feelings hit him once more. How can he be incapable of love when he is being choked by it? It winds its fingers through his hair, wraps around his throat, steals his every breath; he is nothing without it. He doesn’t even mind, not anymore, not when Jaehwan’s this close.

He loves Jaehwan. The realisation hits him at once, and he sags to his knees once more, his teeth chattering loudly in the cold air. Jaehwan’s wings rustle behind him, but he closes his eyes and digs his fingernails into his palms, stigmata, his shame. He loves an impossible being, and their love cannot exist. It’s a paradox, a painful one, but one that hurts so horribly to tear away.

“Jaehwan?”

Jaehwan moves closer; Hakyeon can hear the slush of his feet through the snow, can feel the heat of his body close, so close. “Yes?”

“What are we?”

“That’s up for you to decide, little incubus,” whispers Jaehwan, a smile in his voice.

There’s no point fighting this any longer. That much is clear. No matter what he tries to do, he and Jaehwan are on a collision course—their fates are intertwined, he knows that much. He doesn’t know why, or how, only that without Jaehwan he is incomplete. For three hundred and eighty-six years he was incomplete in a way he never knew. He is only just realising this now, and he feels like a fool.

When he turns and steps into Jaehwan’s arms, it feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> whew three months since the last update??? my bad lmao, star wars au took waaaay longer than I thought it would. BUT I'M BACK! and incubus au is back! god damn I missed it
> 
> I've also been working on a side project called the taekwoon chronicles, an au of this universe where taekwoon isn't an asshole angel and instead 5vixx have to learn to deal with him... I'll start posting that in-between incubus au fics, I think. It's light on plot, but it's fluffy and smutty and fun, to offset the angst that's going on over here :p
> 
> anyway! I won't make you guys wait as long for the next update. hongbin's (+wonshik's) backstory is coming up sometime soon as well, which means more chances for me to be a history nerd yay. thanks for reading!
> 
> the title is from Shakespeare's Sonnet 15, and these two lines in particular really speak to me as being representative both of hakyeon and jaehwan's relationship, and also hakyeon and sanghyuk's:
> 
> _And all in war with Time for love of you,_   
>  _As he takes from you, I engraft you new._


End file.
